Then I told him about father’s investing his money in the western oil company last summer and apparently losing it, and how the company had unexpectedly come to life again.
“Whew!” said Justice, looking dazed for a minute; then he expressed the sincerest joy at our good fortune I have ever heard one mortal express at the prosperity of another. But after his congratulations were all made he stopped short as if he had just thought of something and then he said slowly, “I suppose you’ll be going away from here now; moving out west, possibly to San Francisco?” It seemed to me that he looked very sober at the thought.
“Not if I know it,” I replied decisively. “It’ll be the east for me, if I go anywhere, where the Winnebagos have their hunting grounds.”
“You are going away then?” asked Justice composedly.
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. “Nothing is settled yet. Give us time to catch our breath. In the meantime, come in and meet our guest, the new president of the Pacific Refining Company, who came to tell us the good news.”
Justice assumed an exaggerated air of dignity and formality that upset my composure so I could hardly keep my face straight as I walked into the house.
“Oh, Judge,” I called blithely, “here is the rest of the happy family. Justice, this is Judge Dalrymple.”
Then the second bomb dropped.
For, at the sight of Justice, Judge Dalrymple sprang out of his chair with a hoarse sound in his throat as if he were choking, and stood staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. Justice looked fit to drop.
“Father!” he said weakly.